


It Can Wait

by cloakoflevitation



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: 5+1 Things, A Tiny Bit of Character Development, Banter, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Light Sides As Family (Sanders Sides), No Beta – East Is Up, Nostalgia, Remus and Janus join at the end, Yearning, a dash of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25102894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloakoflevitation/pseuds/cloakoflevitation
Summary: Was talking to a friend of mine about the concept of chaotic-bastard-best-friends Virgil and Remus. Ended up writing 5 times Virgil experiences a happy moment that reminds him of the past plus 1 time everyone is happy together. Features mostly fluff and soft moments with a healthy dose of Virgil missing Remus.[I have this mental image of Roman challenging Virgil to Just Dance expecting him to refuse (bc it's Virgil) and Virgil just gives him this deadpan look and then absolutely destroys him at it bc if you can survive Just Dance with Remus then no one else can beat you.]My friend said this at one point, so yes, there be Just Dance shenanigans here XD***Warnings: Swearing
Comments: 29
Kudos: 98





	It Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jae_Ex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae_Ex/gifts).



> Special thank you to @Jae_Ex, your comments on [Myosotis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581443) were lovely (and inspirational lol) and I love talking about sanders sides stuff with you!!
> 
> Additional thanks to @bluebandedagate on tumblr for offering suggestions about things Remus might sew!

**1.**

His instincts were the only thing that saved him from being hit in the face. Virgil snatched the thrown object from the air just before it would have made contact with him. Frowning, he looked between Roman, the perpetrator of the crime, standing across the room, and then at the wii remote now clutched in his hand. His eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself.”

Roman stood there holding a wii remote of his own, bouncing on the heels of his feet, unbothered by Virgil’s glower. “You, me, Just Dance.” He grinned widely, gesturing to the TV which displayed the title screen of the game.

“Absolutely not.” Virgil tossed the controller back, smirking as Roman struggled to catch it, obviously unprepared for him to refuse and throw it back.

“What? No! Why?”

Virgil folded himself into an armchair and summoned his sewing project from his room. “I’m busy,” he answered, not looking at Roman, as he pulled his needle from the fabric, continuing his half-done line of stitching.

“Virgil,” Roman whined. “I’m _bored._ Why won’t you play with me?”

Startled, Virgil accidentally stabbed his finger. He jerked it away from the needle, holding it up for inspection. It wasn’t bleeding any, it just hurt like a bitch.

“Hey,” Roman called, the humor gone from his voice, replaced by concern. “You alright?”

He blinked, forcing away thoughts of a time long gone and a green-clad side pulling on his arm, demanding, _play with me, I’m bored._ “Uh, yeah.” Virgil shook his head, looking over at Roman. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Roman walked over and knelt, resting his head and arms on the arm of Virgil’s chair, looking up at him with pleading, wide eyes. “My dark knight. My Halloween abomination. Haunter of dreams. I beseech you, aid me.”

Careful not to let his amusement show, Virgil rolled his eyes and picked up his needle to start stitching again. “Laying it on a bit thick there, Princey.”

“My _favorite_ fellow side and _dearest_ friend.”

Virgil snorted. “Keep it up and you’ll summon Deceit.”

“Would you do me the honor of standing by my side in my hour of need?”

“…Playing Just Dance?”

Roman nodded, deeply serious. “Playing Just Dance.”

“Well… when you put it like that…” He heard Roman suck in a breath and hold it. Virgil couldn’t help but snicker. “Not a chance in hell.”

Roman sat back from the arm of the chair, pouting. “You’re just scared that I’ll win.”

Laughter spilled past his lips. “Yeah, okay. That’s _definitely_ it.”

“Okay fiiiine. I’ll owe you one, alright? Just play with me.”

Virgil stopped sewing, leaning over slightly to make eye contact with Roman. “You’ll owe me one?”

Roman crossed his arms and sighed, but grumbled, “Yeah.”

He tilted his head back and forth, considering the offer. “Okay,” he said cautiously, ignoring Roman’s cheers to warn, “Just this once though. This isn’t gonna be a thing.” He stood up from the chair in time to catch the wii remote Roman tossed to him yet again. Carefully, he looped the strap around his wrist, even though Roman was the more likely of the two of them to throw his remote (and Roman did _not_ wear the strap around his wrist, although he really should, especially if Logan had anything to say about it).

When he looked up, Roman had already pulled up a song. “Be Our Guest?” He arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Ah ah,” Roman chided. “You can’t pretend you don’t love it. You admitted to everyone that you like Disney. We know the truth now.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just start it already.”

“Don’t feel bad if I beat you,” Roman started to tease him as the song began to play.

Virgil rolled a shoulder, feeling a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ditto.”

Roman laughed, easily falling into the dance pattern. After a few seconds, he shot a quick glance at Virgil. “You’re not half bad. Have you secretly been practicing at night?”

The note of surprise in Roman’s voice made him laugh. “Oh honey. You’ve got a big storm coming.”

“What do you…” Roman must have started paying closer attention to Virgil’s scores because he trailed off, even as he continued to dance. About halfway into the song, he said, “Holy shit. You’re good. Really good. Have you missed _any?”_

“A handful at the beginning,” Virgil answered nonchalantly, grinning like a mad man, knowing that it was getting under Roman’s skin. He had indeed missed a few at the beginning, but now that the song had dragged on, the screen perpetually lit up with lights and the word _perfect_ as each dance move scrolled across the screen.

“I – you – what?” Roman’s dancing faltered only for a moment amidst his spluttering. “I didn’t even know you knew how to play! And you’re – you’re winning!” The weight of his words seemed to sink in, because he repeated, “You’re winning?! _How?”_

The song ended, and Roman added an extra flourish before turning to face Virgil, who just offered an impish grin. “Don’t beat yourself up, Princey.” He clapped a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “You can’t win them all.”

Roman’s mouth fell open. A myriad of emotions crossed his face before he finally demanded, “I want a rematch.”

Virgil took a step back, holding up both hands, ignoring the remote dangling from one of them. “Woah, no. I said just _once._ I’m out.”

“I’ll give you my Corpse Bride poster,” Roman blurted out.

“Seriously?”

 _“Only_ if you win.”

“You’re so on.” Roman started to look through the songs, but Virgil grabbed his wrist. “I pick the song this time.”

Roman considered him for a second before nodding, amused for unknown reasons. “Yeah, okay.”

It only took a moment for Virgil to decide. Once he saw panic! at the disco, he had made his choice. High Hopes started playing, and Roman muttered, “You’re so cliché.”

“You _literally_ just played Be Our Guest, Prince Childish.”

Roman made a face, and then the dancing started.

If Roman thought Virgil had been good last time, he was a dance _god_ this time. Last time, he had still been adjusting, having not played in ages. But this time… this time Virgil _destroyed_ Roman.

He turned, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t help but cheekily ask, “You wanna go best three outta five?”

Roman was frowning, still looking slightly confused. “I – I don’t understand.”

Virgil slipped the wii remote off his wrist and put it in Roman’s hands, patting him on the back. “There, there.” He walked across the room, picking up his sewing from the chair, continuing towards the stairs.

“When did you – why –?”

“Don’t forget my poster,” he singsonged over his shoulder, grinning wickedly. Breaking Roman’s brain every now and then was good for him. Builds character.

And if, when Virgil got to his room, he remembered being forced into playing Just Dance with a different side, one that hated to sit still and was always looking for distractions, if he remembered countless hours of dancing to anything and everything (and more often than not, Bad Guy, of all things), well, that was no one’s business but his own.

Poor Roman. He hadn’t known what he was getting himself into when he asked Virgil to play. After all, if Virgil could survive Just Dance with Remus, then no one else could hope to beat him.

* * *

**2.**

“Remember the schedule!” Logan insisted, his frustration starting to take a toll on his volume.

Roman’s smile was brittle and paper-thin. “I know you think he should be asleep,” he snipped back, “But if you could bend your precious schedule _just a little,_ we could kill two birds with one stone! It’s more efficient! You love that efficiency shit!”

“Language, kiddo.”

“Patton.” Roman’s forced faux smile was turned on Patton. “It is only the affection that I have in my heart for you that is stopping me from –”

“Guys,” Virgil broke in, feeling the tension in the room increase with each passing second. He hadn’t wanted to say anything at all, but he didn’t want a fight to break out either. Unfortunately, his comment meant Roman finally dropped his pretense of a smile and glared at him. Torn between hiding under his jacket hood or bristling in defense, Logan saved him from having to suffer Roman’s response.

“Why would we have a stone? Why would we kill birds?” Logan’s tone was flat and irritated, the meaning of the saying clearly having gone over his head.

Roman looked up at the ceiling and groaned.

“No, Logan, it’s an idiom.” Patton started to explain the saying, his voice gentle and patient, if a bit tired. The argument about the schedule and getting certain tasks done on time was starting to wear on all of them. “Roman means we could get two things done at the same time. No one is killing any birds.”

Logan ran a hand across his face, knocking his glasses askew in the process. He righted them with a sigh. “Good. Birds are an important part of any ecosystem, and eliminating any species from an environment can have far-reaching and unforeseen side effects.”

“Sounds fake, but okay,” Roman grumbled under his breath.

Eyes blazing, Logan demanded, “What did you say?”

Virgil held his breath, waiting for someone to throw the first punch.

“Logan’s right, Roman.” At Patton’s words, Virgil relaxed slightly, thinking Patton would knock some sense into the other two and diffuse the argument. “You wouldn’t want to get rid of any birds on a _lark!”_

Roman rolled his eyes so hard Virgil was sure they should have gotten stuck somewhere back inside his skull.

“Patton, please. Desist.”

“Birds are the real _herons_ of the environment!”

“That is not accurate. If any species were to be named the hero, it would –”

“You’re just encouraging him!” Roman declared to the room at large, and Virgil couldn’t tell if he was talking about Logan or Patton.

 **“HEY!”** Virgil yelled over the others, wincing at the dark undertones in his voice. He could feel the shadow under his eyes getting darker. “Forget the idioms and puns. Forget the birds. Birds aren’t real anyway. Let’s just figure out the schedule thing and be done, okay?” It was a command, not a question, but no one immediately answered him.

The faint buzz of the air conditioner filled the silence but did nothing to block out the strange looks the others gave him.

“Birds aren’t real?” Roman asked uncertainly.

“Birds are quite real, let me reassure you.”

With his cheeks tinged pink, Virgil stammered out, “It’s a conspiracy thing,” as he realized the others didn’t know what he was referencing.

“I didn’t know you were into conspiracy theories,” Patton spoke up, surprising him. “Have you seen the one about the government sanctioned aliens by Shane and Ryan?”

“Wait, Patton, _you_ watch conspiracy theories?” Roman shook his head. “I did _not_ see that one coming.”

“It makes sense, actually, given his propensity for staying up into the early hours of the morning consuming senseless media.”

Patton, ignoring the other two, was still waiting for Virgil to answer his question.

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen that one.” While his mind tried to wrap itself around the idea of Patton watching conspiracy theories, his mouth kept speaking. “I, uh, haven’t watched them in a long time.”

“No?” Patton’s face scrunched slightly, in question and confusion. “We could watch some together, sometime. Have you seen any of the Poppy videos?”

Virgil chuckled. “No, Remus didn’t –” He cut himself off when he realized what he had admitted. He looked from Patton to Roman, watching Roman’s expression darken, a guarded look settling in his eyes. Regretfully, Virgil finished, “I don’t think those were Remus’s type of video.”

“I was confused because you don’t seem like the conspiracy type either,” Roman said to him quietly, “but it makes sense that my brother forced you to watch them.”

Patton’s hand flew up to his mouth, his eyes wide. “Oh no, kiddo! I didn’t even think about how those would affect you.”

It took Virgil a moment to realize what they meant. He was anxiety, he was paranoia, and learning about conspiracies certainly didn’t help him any. But… it hadn’t bothered him either. The videos Remus had wanted to watch with him were always utterly ludicrous, half-baked at best, riddled with unexplained questions and lacking any kind of real evidence. They had been funny, more than anything. Especially with Remus there to exaggerate and mock the theories. Instead of sitting awake at night, worried about real and present dangers, Remus would drag him into his room, where they would sit up, giggling as slightly unhinged individuals outlined craters on the moon with microsoft paint in a way that _just so happened_ to look like nuclear power plants that the martians who had invaded the moon were building to take over Earth and wipe out humanity.

But he couldn’t find the words to say, to explain, because how could he possibly be scared of a blob in a blurry photo that was supposedly some cryptid or monster when _Remus_ was sitting beside him? For better or for worse, growing up with Remus made many other ‘scary’ things pale in comparison.

“Don’t worry about the schedule,” Logan said kindly, offering Virgil an awkward smile. “Roman and I will figure out the details in a civil manner while you and Patton engage in a calming activity.”

Virgil hesitated, trying to decide what to say, what to do, before finally nodding, letting his shoulders slump. “Alright.” He didn’t correct anyone’s assumptions, instead submitting to the others’ fretting.

Logan and Roman walked upstairs, and Roman squeezed Virgil’s shoulder as he walked by in a comforting gesture. Knowing the sentiment was misplaced, guilt pulled at Virgil’s heart.

“How do you feel about coloring?” Patton asked, stepping closer to Virgil now that they were alone. “I have a new box of crayons that I’m dying to use!”

“I won’t say no to some fresh sharp crayons,” Virgil answered with a tired smile, ignoring a memory of coloring with another side, getting marker all up and down their arms, much to a certain yellow-clad side’s displeasure upon discovering them.

* * *

**3.**

Virgil crept down the stairs, hoping not to run into anyone. Not that he had anything against the others, but he hadn’t gotten around to eating lunch quite yet and he knew if he saw anyone, they’d try to get to him to sit down and eat. Not that he had anything against eating either, he was just right in the middle of a very important session of doing absolutely nothing alone in his room, and he didn’t feel like stopping to eat.

He slid along the wall, silent and quick, making it into the kitchen without a sound.

A drink, he wanted a drink, that was all.

A pitcher of guava juice (Logan’s) sat in the fridge, along with a few bottles of grape soda (Roman’s). Virgil wrinkled his nose in disgust at the purple cough syrup monstrosity. How Roman could drink that, he would never know. But in the back, wedged behind the jug of milk, Virgil found what he was looking for: a can of monster. It was probably the last thing he needed, especially at the moment, but he didn’t have the energy to care.

He pulled out his can and started to slink towards the stairs, until a figure at the table caught his attention. He had no idea how he hadn’t seen them the first time he had walked past.

“Patton,” he greeted cautiously, trying to subtly move the can of monster behind his back. He took half a step backwards, already planning his escape.

“Hey Virgil,” Patton responded, not quite as cheery as normal, more focused on the thing in his hands.

Virgil hesitated, knowing he should slip away before Patton discovered that he hadn’t eaten and was planning on drinking an energy drink when he was having a… less than good… day. But Patton was frowning, hunched over whatever he was working on at the table, radiating frustration, and Virgil couldn’t help but ask, “Do you need some help?”

Patton looked up and blinked, as if realizing all over again that Virgil was there. He shook his head, setting the thing in his hands down on the table with a clatter of ceramic. “No, I’m fine.”

 _Bullshit._ He gave Patton a pointed look.

“Okay,” Patton relented with a sigh, tiredly holding up a hand for Virgil to see. “I kinda… superglued my fingers together.”

Putting _Mission Collect A Drink Without Detection_ momentarily on hold, Virgil set his can on the table and stepped around to Patton’s side. “Let me see,” he said, taking hold of Patton’s hand with both of his own. Patton’s pointer and middle fingers on his left hand were stuck together, and it appeared that the glue had dried some time ago. He looked up from Patton’s hand to his eyes. “Pat, how long ago did this happen?”

“Oh uh…” Patton squirmed under Virgil’s gaze. “I don’t know. I just wanted to get this finished.” He gestured helplessly with his free hand to the candle-sized ceramic frog that laid on the table in three pieces. “I’ve had it for years but last week… I knocked it off my desk.”

Virgil offered him what was hopefully an encouraging smile. “Sit tight while I get something for your fingers.”

He went upstairs to his room first, thinking he still had the bottle of nail polish remover. When he didn’t find it there, he looked in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. When it wasn’t there either, frustration started to slide under his skin.

He knocked once on Logan’s door and then opened it, sticking his head in. “Did you steal the nail polish remover?”

Logan had several poster boards laid out on the floor, with pie graphs and scatter plots and statistics drawn on in different colors. His laptop was sitting near him on the floor, showing multiple tabs of spreadsheets open. Logan didn’t look up from the graph he was currently making. “No.”

Virgil left in a huff, belatedly realizing he should have gone to Roman first instead of Logan. He stepped away from the doorway.

“Why?” Logan called, his voice floating out of his room through the door Virgil had not closed.

“Patton superglued his fingers!” Virgil yelled back. He opened the door to Roman’s room, ignoring Roman’s protests about privacy. “Nail polish remover,” he demanded.

Roman crossed his arms, looking fearsome despite being seated on the floor and wearing an orange clay facial mask. He started a tirade about knocking and privacy and common curtesy, but Virgil tuned him out when he saw the bottle of nail polish remover nestled amongst all the other skin care and nail care things littering the floor in a semi-circle around Roman. He picked it up and left.

When he walked back out into the hallway, Logan was still talking to him, “– and the acetone allows –” Virgil pulled Logan’s door closed with more force than he intended, abruptly ending the conversation Logan clearly thought they were still having.

He made it to the top of the stairs before he stopped. Took a deep breath. Turned around.

He stuck his head back in Roman’s room, saying quietly, “I’ll knock next time.”

Roman narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, as if trying to decide whether or not to accept Virgil’s not-apology. Maybe he could see the tension in Virgil’s shoulders or the darker than normal shadows under his eyes, but whatever the reason, his expression softened a tiny amount. “See that you do,” he instructed, voice clipped.

“Patton superglued his fingers.” When Roman started to stand up from where he was sitting on the floor in the middle of his room, Virgil reassured him, “But he’ll be fine. I’ve got it.”

Roman resettled himself, folding his legs up underneath him. “When you’re done with Patton, we’ll do aromatherapy.” He gave Virgil shrewd look. “You seem like you could use it.”

A bubble of fond exasperation burst in Virgil’s chest. He rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll paint your nails too!” Roman added quickly, just before Virgil shut his door back.

Virgil shook his head. If Roman had his way, he’d end up with pastels or sparkles on his nails.

He opened Logan’s door, not surprised when Logan didn’t look up. “Hey.” The greeting was met with silence, not that Virgil was surprised. “I’d like to hear about nail polish remover and acetone and superglue, if you want to come downstairs with me?”

The hand holding the sharpie that Logan was using to draw an axis on a graph froze. He slowly looked up. “Don’t patronize me. I am not so fragile that I need to be treated as if I –” His voice caught, and he blinked quickly, before finishing, “As if I have _hurt feelings_ when I am ignored.”

Virgil winced and ran his hand not holding the nail polish remover through his hair. “I know,” he said gently, not bothering to argue the point about Logan having feelings in the first place. “But I shouldn’t have shut the door when you were talking.” He took a step further into the room. “I’m having a bad day, and I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine.” He sighed. “I want to hear what you have to say, but Patton’s waiting on me to fix his fingers. Come with?”

“I…” Logan recapped the sharpie in his hand, looking around at all his graphs. “I suppose this can wait.”

Virgil carefully bumped Logan’s shoulder as they walked down together, softly saying, “You is smart, you is important.” Roman had insisted they all watch the movie _The Help_ a week or so ago during movie night.

A smile tugged at the corners of Logan’s lips. “Am I not kind?”

“Of course you are!” Patton called from the table, giving Logan a little wave that was made slightly clumsy by his superglued fingers. “You’re one of the kindest people I know! And the smartest! And the importantest!”

Virgil swore he saw the faintest blush on Logan’s cheeks, and asked, “Could you get some paper towels?” to give Logan a moment alone in the kitchen. When he returned, he handed Virgil the paper towels. Virgil started using the nail polish remover to unglue Patton’s fingers while Logan started explaining the properties of acetone.

By the time Logan had run through all of his facts, Patton was finally able to wiggle his fingers independently of each other. He slipped away to wash his hands at the same time that Roman appeared with a bin of nail polish that he deposited onto the table with a flourish.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“It appears to be an assortment of nail polish.”

Remembering that he was currently on thin ice with Logan, Virgil swallowed down the sarcastic _gee thanks_ that was on the tip of his tongue.

“Virgil needs some pampering,” Roman informed Logan in a conspiratorial stage whisper.

“I do not!”

“Ah. I see,” Logan answered with a sharp nod. “He does indeed.”

Virgil shot a betrayed look at Logan before turning to Roman, insisting, “Well Logan does too!”

“I require no such thing!”

Roman clapped his hands gleefully. “Perfect! I’ll do both of you!”

Patton reappeared long enough to inform Virgil, “Now that you’ve helped me fix that _sticky_ situation, I’m going to get you some lunch. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you haven’t eaten yet, mister!”

Virgil looked around helplessly for his can of monster, not surprised to see it was nowhere to be found.

“You’re making food?” Logan called worriedly, as Patton wandered into the kitchen.

“I’m reheating leftovers,” Patton responded, sounding somewhat apologetic. “Then I’ll have time for Roman to paint my nails too.”

Virgil, Logan, and Roman shared matching expressions of relief upon hearing that Patton wasn’t going to attempt to cook anything.

Roman started pulling out handfuls of nail polish bottles, sitting them on the tabletop. “Alright nerds, pick a color and then you can fight over who’s going first.”

It wouldn’t be until later, after Virgil had eaten, and he and Logan both were sporting newly done nails, while Roman was painting Patton’s nails, that Patton would curiously ask, “How did you know what to do? With the superglue?”

“Huh?”

Patton started to make a gesture, only to be scolded by Roman who grabbed his hand back and continued his artwork. Patton murmured an apology and then explained, “You didn’t have to look it up. You just knew what to do.”

Logan turned a calculating gaze his way, and even though Roman was looking at Patton’s nails, Virgil could tell he was listening too. He shifted nervously and shrugged. “Oh, you know. I, uh, grew up with Remus.” He ignored the tension that solidified in the air when he mentioned Roman’s brother. “He was _constantly_ supergluing his fingers. Or scraping his knees. Or getting splinters. Or spraining something.” A wry half-smile twisted his mouth. “He’s the reason I know how to wrap a sprain.”

Roman looked like he was going to break a tooth from clenching his jaw so hard. Patton looked sorry he had brought the subject up. Logan looked thoughtful. “It must have been eventful, growing up in the environment that you did.”

Virgil laughed. “Yeah, it was.” _Eventful._ Yeah, that was one word for it.

If his smile turned a touch nostalgic and sad, no one said a word.

* * *

**4.**

Virgil was folded up in the corner of the sofa working on his sewing project again. It had a long way to go, certainly, but he was pleased with the progress he’d made so far. He had just finished putting in the stuffing when Patton walked into the room.

“Oh, hi Virgil!”

“S’up Pat?” He acknowledged, briefly glancing up to make eye contact with him.

Patton settled himself on the sofa near Virgil, close but not too close, straddling the gap between being in Virgil’s personal space and being so far away as to seem rude. “I was gonna watch the last season of She-Ra. Do you mind?”

He shook his head. “Go ahead. It won’t bother me.”

“Are you sure? I can always wait until you’re done.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, really.”

Patton pulled up the cutesy pastels-and-princesses show. (Not _exactly_ Virgil’s taste in media, but Roman had sang the theme song so often that _maybe_ he had binge-watched it all one weekend and _okay yeah,_ it was actually pretty good.) He let the dialogue float through his head as he slip-stitched the opening he’d left for all the stuffing. Then he examined the buttons he’d gathered, choosing a black one and a blue one. Deciding exactly where to place them and then pinning them, he slowly started to sew them on. When they were done, he added another button onto the body of the little horror he was making.

As he started sewing wide stitches with embroidery thread to form the mouth, he realized he couldn’t hear the voices from the TV anymore. He looked up to see Patton had paused the show, instead watching him as he finished his sewing.

“Uhh… Patton?”

He received a warm smile in response. “Is that [the doll? From Lilo and Stitch?”](https://www.google.com/search?q=scrump+lilo+and+stitch&sxsrf=ALeKk00PrVYjm-HXelBHxDPVyWh8LRFWXw:1594179784773&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwii6p2-3rzqAhUEYKwKHbx0DgsQ_AUoAXoECA4QAw&biw=1126&bih=699#imgrc=yuYN6FKgiLkcFM)

Pride curled around Virgil’s heart at his creation being recognized. “Yeah, it’s Scrump.” He continued adding the rest of the stitches for the mouth, all the while aware of Patton’s gaze.

As he tied off his thread, Patton said, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

Virgil felt a blush heat his cheeks. He ducked his head in embarrassment, mumbling something that even he himself couldn’t understand.

His Scrump replica needed a ribbon and a bow and some straw hair, but he’d add those later.

“Have you been sewing for a long time?”

A thousand memories flashed through his mind. Patches in the knees of jeans, poorly knit hats and striped scarves, thumbholes cut into sleeves and buttonhole-stitched around the edges, sections of purple patterned plaid sewed onto a black jacket. He remembered cut-off overalls with extra pockets, t-shirts cut into tank tops and crop tops, costumes of all kinds, a zombie plushie with tear-off arms and an internal skeleton made of soft plastic vinyl.

“Yeah.” He nodded, looking at Patton but, for one fleeting moment, saw a different side staring back. “We learned together.”

Patton tilted his head, the motion pulling Virgil violently back to the present, reminding him of where he was and who he was speaking with. “We?” Patton repeated, more of a prompt than a curiosity, more compassion than confusion in his voice.

He sucked in a breath. Held it. Let it out. Did it again. “Me and Remus.”

“Oh?” Patton hummed softly, gently, a question, if he wanted to talk about it.

He nodded, looking down at the Scrump doll. Carefully, he ran his fingers over the buttons he had sewed on as her eyes. “We didn’t know what we were doing, at first. The things we made… they were messy, ugly. But we made them, so we didn’t care. And we just… kept going.” He shrugged. “I guess we got better, learned along the way.”

Patton nodded along as he spoke, making little encouraging noises in the right places to show he was paying attention. When Virgil didn’t say anything else, he asked, “What was the best thing you made?”

A fond groan forced its way out of his throat. “Remus’s octopus. Hands down.” His fingers moved from Scrump’s eyes to trace the mouth he had stitched on her. “We had to make three or four different leg patterns before Remus was happy with the shape after we stuffed them. And the body… the body of that damn plushie was a _nightmare._ We must have cut it all out and then scrapped it a million times.”

Patton laughed with Virgil, despite not knowing exactly why.

“It’s harder than you’d think, trying to cut things out flat and have them look right in three dimensions. But we finished it eventually. And it looked _awesome.”_

Virgil sifted through his basket of sewing things that he’d brought down from his room, thread and scissors and a bag of stuffing and pieces of fabric and buttons and odds and ends. When he found the ribbon he was looking for, he carefully tied it around Scrump’s neck. The bow and hair would take a bit more effort, but the ribbon was easy enough.

“Thanks for sitting with me,” he said quietly, gesturing to the TV where She-Ra was paused. Grabbing his basket and the doll, he said, “I’m gonna get some stuff and finish this upstairs.” He made it about halfway across the room when Patton spoke.

“Do you want some help?” Patton called, making Virgil freeze. “I could come with you?”

Virgil’s throat closed up at his question. A sharp pang pierced his heart, turning his stomach. It felt suspiciously like melancholic nostalgia. There was no reason Patton’s questions should make him want to cry, and yet.

He turned back to face Patton, careful to keep the bitter sadness from his expression. “Thanks, but I’m good on my own.”

There was sympathy in his expression, and Virgil fled up the steps into his room to hide from Patton’s questions and pity and from the squirming mess of emotions in his head.

* * *

**5.**

Anger mixed with more than a fair share of worry itched just under Virgil’s skin. Thomas had gone out earlier in the day, and upon returning, realized he had forgotten to lock his front door.

Patton had tried to downplay it. Logan thought it was serious but a learning experience, something to move on from and remember in the future. Virgil, however, knew the truth of how dangerous it could have been. Anyone might have wandered in when Thomas was gone. They could have stolen things, poisoned the food in his cabinets, put cameras up throughout different rooms. Even worse, they might have stayed inside, waiting until Thomas came home. He could have been hurt, kidnapped, _killed_ even.

He took a deep breath in and held it. Then did that about fifty times more.

Thomas was sleeping now, and Virgil had decided to pop by and remind Thomas why he needed to be more diligent about locking up when he left the house. Influencing Thomas’s dreams just a little to reinforce the message would do him some good, make him less likely to forget next time. (For now, he was ignoring the fact that Roman would be mad about him tampering with Thomas’s dreams, which _usually_ were left entirely up to Creativity to create.)

When he appeared in Thomas’s bedroom, he nearly tripped over his feet in an effort to retreat backward. A hiss left his mouth before he could stop it.

A Cheshire grin split Remus’s face. He sat forward from where he had been leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor near Thomas’s bed.

Recovering from the initial shock, Virgil frowned, stalking forward until he could sit opposite from Remus, his back pressed against the bed, protecting Thomas. He demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Remus rolled his eyes and looked away. “I dunno. Whatever I want.” He shrugged, looking back at him with too much wildness in his expression for Virgil to feel comfortable. “Is it not simply enough to do whatever pops into my head? Must I have some kind of thought-process?”

Virgil was torn between laughing and biting out something harsh, because sure, it was funny, but this was _Thomas._ The stakes were too high do things on a whim and mess everything up. Thomas could get hurt. But before Virgil could decide on any response, Remus spoke again.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

He bristled under the implication that he wasn’t allowed to be there, realizing belatedly that he had implied the same thing of Remus. But that was different… _surely?_ He forced the thought away, knowing the last thing he needed was some kind of philosophical realization, particularly about Remus while he was sitting in the same room as him. “I’m doing my job,” he grumbled.

Laughing, as if he knew something that Virgil didn’t, Remus held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, eyes alight with humor. It was _irritating._ “Well, don’t mind me.” He summoned an embroidery hoop. “Carry on with doing your job.”

Virgil could see just enough of the fabric to tell that Remus was cross-stitching but not enough to see _what_ he was cross-stitching. He doubted it was an array of flowers or a saying like, _live, laugh, love._

Suddenly he remembered cross-stitching tiny bright yellow and blue flowers that had decorated the edges of the proclamation, _abandon all hope, ye who enter here._ It had looked like the cutesy homemaker framed embroideries that always seemed to appear in the homes of older people. It had been meant to seem mundane, pleasant at first glance, only to be something else entirely upon closer inspection. It had been designed that way. _They_ had designed it that way. (Janus had laughed so hard he cried when they showed it to him, and when he could breathe again, had sarcastically suggested that they give it to Patton at Christmas.)

Something wistful pulled at Virgil’s heart.

“Thomas forgot to lock his door,” he admitted before he had even made up his mind that he was going to say anything. “I’m gonna help remind him _why_ he needs to lock the door.”

“Audacious of you,” Remus crooned, not looking up from his cross-stitching. “I love a man who can take charge.”

Virgil reached behind him to grab a pillow from Thomas’s bed and threw it at Remus. It hit him in the face.

Remus threw it back, frowning when Virgil caught it and tossed it back on the bed. “Can’t you see I’m busy,” he complained, pointing at Virgil accusingly with his embroidery needle.

“Oh no,” Virgil deadpanned. “I can’t believe I’ve distracted you from your _very_ important work. How will the world ever go on without it.”

“Speaking of work,” Remus ignored Virgil’s comments, “You’re going to make Roman mad, messing with Tommy Boy’s dreams. And I approve wholeheartedly.”

Virgil could feel a smile curling at the edges of his mouth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d sell Roman to the devil for one corn chip.”

Remus didn’t look up from his cross-stitching as he nonchalantly corrected, “I’d pay the devil one corn chip so he’d take Roman.”

It felt familiar, the words, the tone, the voice, the teasing. For a moment, Virgil was sitting in another room, at another time, laughing and snarking and bitching about the others with his best friend.

His eyes traced Remus’s face as he sat across from him, cross-stitching something probably grotesque. He looked the same. Sounded the same. Acted the same. But he wasn’t the same Remus that Virgil had left all that time ago.

Then again, Virgil wasn’t the same now either.

It might have been the nostalgia, looking back at the past with rose-tinted glasses that made the fabric look less frayed and less faded, but the deepness, the sureness of the moment made him take a chance. “You know,” he began slowly, “I could use some help. With Thomas. And the dreams.”

Remus froze. He didn’t look up, but Virgil could tell he wanted to, could tell he was listening.

“I wanna show him worst case scenario stuff, if he forgets to lock his door again. And I’m sure you have plenty of ideas… if your cross-stitch can wait?”

Remus coughed like he was choking on something before sending his cross-stitch somewhere in the Mindscape. “Yeah,” he nodded once, his voice rough, “My cross-stitch can wait.”

* * *

**+1**

Virgil was eternally grateful when Logan and Janus finally entered the Imagination, as their presence helped even the brain-cells vs no-brain-cells balance.

Patton clapped his hands when they appeared, clearly elated. “Now bonding time can begin!”

“I’m still not entirely convinced of the science behind this.” Logan gave Patton a skeptical look. “It _could_ improve our interpersonal relationships, but it would be much more likely to do so if we were not already acquainted with each other. As it stands, we have known each other for… years.”

Virgil couldn’t help but agree, but they had already had this (rather long and loud and passionate) argument once already, and he wasn’t keen on repeating the experience. He nudged Logan, shaking his head. “Give it up, Logan. We’re doing the stupid bonding.”

Janus grumbled under his breath, “The sooner we start, the sooner I can leave.”

“Fine.” Logan sighed pointedly. “What activity have you chosen?”

Roman spoke up, “Patton has ever so kindly allowed Remus and myself to choose the game we’re going to play. And after much compromise –”

“Compromise?” Remus interjected. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“– we have settled on capture the flag.” Roman then turned to Remus, pointing a finger and accusing, _“You_ wanted to play a real-life version of operation with Logan as the body we’re operating on. And that’s why _you_ had to do all the compromising.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind –” Janus quickly forced Logan to put a hand over his mouth, cutting himself off, lest his encouragement reinvigorate Remus’s efforts to play operation.

Playing a real-life version of operation was, unfortunately, something that Virgil had experienced already and not something that he wanted to repeat. Janus had done better with the game, having a stronger constitution for blood and internal organs than him.

Whenever Remus created a new game or adapted an existing one to his proclivities, he usually insisted that Virgil and Janus try it at least once. Of course, that was back before Virgil had left. But things were different now, in more ways than one. Things were always different. Change was funny that way, it never seemed to _stop._

“Okay, let’s get this rolling,” Virgil prompted them, feeling his thoughts turn a little too reflective. “What teams are we playing?”

Remus summoned a black flag while Roman summoned a blue one. At the same time, they yelled, “Team captain!”

“I want to go back to my room,” Janus muttered, making Virgil bite down a smile. He felt slightly better, knowing he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely comfortable with what they were doing.

“Janus is on my team!” Roman announced, startling everyone, most of all Janus.

_“Me?”_

Roman shrank back ever so slightly from everyone’s gazes. “What?” He asked defensively, crossing his arms, glaring at everyone but Janus. “I just think he’d be good at this. Back off.” Perhaps in an effort to change the subject, he quickly added, “I want Patton too.”

“Now wait a minute,” Patton shook his head, “It’s Remus’s turn to pick a teammate.”

Remus shrugged, waving off Patton’s concerns. “Nah, I don’t care. I’m good with Virgil and Logan anyway.”

“If you’re sure,” Patton said, walking alongside Janus to stand at Roman’s side.

Roman let out a cheer, high-fiving Patton (who returned it enthusiastically) and Janus (who was far less enthusiastic). “Dream team!” He waved their little blue flag, and even Janus smiled when stars appeared on the blue fabric.

“A visual pun!” Patton giggled, emphasizing, _“Dream_ team!”

Logan rolled his eyes and turned to Virgil as Remus walked up beside them both. “Looks like we’re a team then,” Logan observed. “How thrilling.”

Virgil chuckled at his dry tone. Helping Logan recognize and utilize sarcasm was quickly becoming his favorite pastime. “Careful, you’re starting to sound _excited_ there.”

Logan shot him a rather unimpressed look and then took the flag from Remus. “Shall we develop a kind of strategy?”

Virgil slowly slid his gaze over to meet Remus’s. They both smirked. He looked back to Logan and shook his head. “Nah. We’ll just wing it.”

Roman insisted on briefly running through the rules, just so everyone was clear on what the goal was, what was allowed, and what was considered cheating. He also created a miniature version of the Imagination with a wave of his hand, highlighting the boundaries of each team. Then they took a few minutes to place their respective flags on their sides before returning to where the boundaries met.

With a bit of concentration on Roman’s part, a huge floating digital clock appeared in the sky, counting down the seconds until the game officially started.

“We’re gonna crush you,” Roman taunted.

Remus only grinned, finally giving Virgil the pointed look that he had been waiting for. “So we can start preparations?” Remus asked, eyeing the clock, which was at six seconds now and counting down.

“Sure! No amount of preparations are gonna save you though!”

Remus ignored him, turning to Logan and instructing, “Guard our side and let me and Virgil worry about their flag.” Something shifted just under Remus’s skin, moving and stretching almost too fast to see, until he had too many arms. Colors crawled across his face, his arms, his clothes, and then he appeared to abruptly blink out of existence.

“Thaumoctopus mimicus,” Logan said quietly, more to himself than the others. “The mimic octopus.”

Seeing the shocked faces of Roman and Patton, Virgil couldn’t help but laugh loudly, earning the attention of the remaining visible sides. Virgil summoned shadows, forming something that floated just above the ground, dark and writhing, like a portal to another world. He looked directly at Roman and winked before stepping into the shadows, temporarily becoming a shadow himself, near invisible and incapable of being touched.

Roman made several noises that didn’t quite ever become words. Patton made a high-pitched squeak that could have either been concern for the decreasing odds of their team winning or just sheer excitement at what he had witnessed.

The clock hit zero with little fanfare beyond a buzzer noise.

“We’re so fucked,” Janus groaned, shaking his head. “We should have split them up. Why didn’t we split them up.”

Roman summoned a horse and, once he had stepped a foot into a stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle, then summoned a shield and a lance. “Patton? We could really use a giant frog right about now!”

“Roman!” Janus called in warning, while carefully keeping an eye out for the reappearance of either Virgil or Remus. “Don’t mention the redux! That had a lot of angst that hasn’t been resolved yet!”

“Ugh.” Roman urged his horse closer to the boundary. “A sword then! Or a moat! Someone do _something!”_

Patton took a few steps backward, away from the boundary. “I’d really rather kill them with kindness than a sword,” he admitted, much to Roman’s disappointment. “But I could guard our side,” he offered brightly, as Roman and Janus started to advance on Logan. Patton raised both hands, and a dense line of thick-trunked trees appeared, thicket and bramble interlaced amongst the roots and between the trees.

“I’m fairly certain we ruled that an illegal act,” Logan called, stepping back further into his side in an effort to keep both Roman and Janus in his sight.

Janus grinned. “Maybe we have a chance after all.” His appearance shimmered briefly, and then two copies of himself, illusions, stepped out of the space he was occupying to stand at either side of him.

Just as Roman raised his lance to call for them to advance into the other side’s territory, Virgil stepped forward from nothing, as if he had teleported, wearing the biggest smirk on his face. A moment later, Remus appeared, his skin textured and colored all wrong, rippling and changing before it eventually settled into his normal appearance. He propped an arm up on Virgil’s shoulder, lazily holding up the blue flag.

“So,” Virgil called to the other team, unable to keep the giddy smugness from his voice. “Do you wanna get completely destroyed again?”

All three Janus’s put their heads in their hands and groaned, “We need new teams.”

Logan and Patton moved in from their respective sides, rejoining the others closer to the boundary, and Logan shot Patton a glare. “We _need_ to review the rules.”

“You’re saying I’m _guilt-tree_ of breaking the rules?” Patton winked, cheeky and playful.

An annoyed sigh left Logan’s mouth.

“It’s okay,” Remus said with faux sympathy in his tone, looking at Roman with a sugary smile. “You can admit it. You’re just no match for me and Virgil.”

 _“No,”_ Janus murmured, _“Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it.”_

“Heresy!” Roman declared, swinging himself down from his mount, which then disappeared in a burst of glitter. “This was a fluke! Beginner’s luck! I demand best two out of three!”

Janus shared a look with Logan, both desperate to remind themselves that there was, in fact, another sane side present.

Roman’s call for best two out of three quickly became best three out of five and then best five out of seven, but Virgil wouldn’t have traded the time spent running around and chasing the others in the Imagination for anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Do y'all read ao3 fics via phone or computer? Just curious.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you have any prompts/requests please feel free to send them my way [@doctor-gloom](https://doctor-gloom.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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